


Drift

by GraceNM



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Episode: s05e10 Into The Woods, Episode: s05e17 Forever, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 07:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12316575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraceNM/pseuds/GraceNM
Summary: She had conjured him out of her dreams, and morning would part them, as it always had. Set in BtVS Season 5, during "Into the Woods" and "Forever."





	Drift

**Author's Note:**

> You'll recognize some lines throughout, especially from "Forever." Special thanks to Kairos for her beta work.

"Buffy, I – I did something."

Her mother's eyes were wide beneath the ominous red-stained bandage affixed to her head. She took in a determined breath.

Buffy, perched companionably on the side of Joyce's hospital bed, had been playing along with a happy game of "do you remember…"

They had inevitably gotten to talking of Christmases, and her mom brought up the time Buffy bailed on her and Dawn – a shadow had passed over Joyce's face at this memory of her younger daughter, but she pressed on – and left them with Faith.

"That was the Christmas before last, when it snowed," Joyce said. "Did you slay in the snow?"

"Oh, what fun it was to ride and sing a slaying song that night," Buffy joked, wanting to skate away from the dicey topic of Faith. And then she almost felt it – the sting of the cold on her cheeks, the press of his hand in hers – and she swallowed her smile abruptly.

Her mother gave her an enquiring-minds-want-to-know face, and she thought: _Oh, what the hell._

"It was for Angel, Mom," she said. "That snow, it was for Angel. He was going to – well, it was really important that the sun didn't shine that morning, so they let it snow instead."

"They?" Joyce asked.

"I don’t know. Whatever's out there. I told him to keep fighting…that we could do it together."

She slid her hand into her mother's without really thinking. "I thought we would," Buffy said, almost to herself. "There's a part of me that still can't believe he left. I'll be out on patrol, and I'll see a shadow in the cemetery and for a second I'll be so sure..."

She broke off, guiltily thinking of Riley. She had maybe been neglecting him, but she'd been busy and so worried about her mom, and he'd seemed to understand. Last night had been good, and things between them would get better.

Joyce's face looked a bit pained, and Buffy worried that maybe she'd gone too far into confession mode. "Not that Riley isn't great," she said hastily. "He's so great. And he helps. He does his best to help."

And that's when Joyce had said that, had said that she'd done something.

"What? What do you mean?"

And she told Buffy all about it, about visiting the mansion on Crawford Street in the waning days of Buffy's high school career – during a life that seemed so far away from both of them now. That she'd told Angel that she hoped he cared enough about her daughter to make the right choices.

Buffy's throat burned by the time her mother finished. She swallowed away a mouthful of lead.

"Did I do the wrong thing, Buffy? It's just—you've seemed happy with Riley and you were doing so well at school before this," her mother said, gesturing to her own bandaged head. "I didn't realize you still missed him like that."

And part of her wanted to cry and rage at her mother, to slice through the calm concern with the still-jagged edges of her heart. But another part of her knew that it would be wrong. And not just because her mom was recovering from brain surgery.

So she squeezed Joyce's hand where she still held it, and she didn't have to lie when she said, "It's OK, Mom. What happened with Angel – it wasn't your fault."

†††

"I'm so grateful that you came, Angel. I didn't think I was gonna be able to make it through the night."

"We still have a few more minutes until I have to go," Angel said, the words soothing back the panic that threatened to knock her under.

"Good," she said through her still-tingling lips. She resettled against him. "Good."

She rested her cheek against his chest and breathed slowly, trying to push back the thoughts of vomit on the floor and her soft, sweet mother now stiff and still in a silk-lined box.

She felt almost guilty, to be sitting here with his arms around her. She had longed for him for so many months, especially during her mom's illness, and now she had him, and all her mother had to embrace her was the hard earth.

But even her sweet solace had its bitter pill. She had conjured him out of her dreams, and morning would part them, as it always had.

_One of us has to go here_ , and sometimes it was her and sometimes it was him. But it was always goodbye.

_Mom? Mom? Mommy?_ … _Close your eyes._

Never the word, but always goodbye.

She was trying to focus on breathing him in, soap and salt and the faint tang of pennies, but her nose kept filling with the disinfectant smell of her mother's hospital room.

_I didn't realize you still missed him like that._

"Mom told me, you know," she said finally, softly, closing her eyes as his palm ran over her hair. "About coming to see you before the prom. She told me when she was in the hospital."

"Buffy…" he began.

"I know you didn't tell me because you didn't want me to blame her. She thought it was best for me, and you agreed. I get that. But that normal life stuff…that's not really why you left, is it?"

The silence went on until she had to pull away and meet his eyes, bracing a hand against his chest. "You were afraid," she said.

"Still am." She felt his words throb through the scar on her neck and her hand twitched as she checked the impulse to touch it.

He looked down at her fingers then, pale pilgrims that had landed right over his black-shrouded heart. His face was so close it was almost touching hers. "The way it felt just now, Buffy, when we kissed—"

She raised her fingers to his lips to stop him. "I shouldn't have—This isn't the right time, Angel. All I can worry about is what comes next." An image of Dawn collapsing in the school hallway loomed up behind her eyes and she winced.

He pressed a kiss into her hand and drew her back into his arms, holding her quietly as the stars began to dim.

"Buffy, when your mom came to see me that day, she told me that you'd grown up so fast that even she forgot how young you still were. I hate that this happened, but you will get through it. I'm not sure I believe in much anymore, but I believe in that. In you."

She clutched his shirt with her hand and pressed her face into his neck. She thought for a moment that she'd finally be able to let go, let the tears go. But just then she noticed the faint glow on the horizon, and she was jolted by a sudden, intense relief.

Her mommy wouldn't rise. The body that birthed her and nurtured her would still turn to dust, but it would not be at her hand. The idea had been completely irrational, entirely impossible. But she had drifted off for a few minutes while on hold with the funeral home and there'd been a dream – her undead mother snarling; Dawn's baby-pink lips crimsoned with gore. And some small part of her needed to keep this vigil, just to be sure.

Now the sun would be coming up. It was over. His strength, borrowed, had carried her through it, and now he would have to let her go.

As the relief receded, it was replaced by an aching weariness that swelled through her head. "I need to sleep," she mumbled against Angel's skin. "I haven’t really slept since..."

He stood up with an uncanny grace, bringing them both to their feet. "Let me get you home."

"No," she said quickly, her voice too loud. She added, more gently, "I—I can't sleep there. But…it's not like you can make with the driving in the daytime. You must be planning to stay somewhere."

Their blanket of night was desperately thin now. He needed shelter, and soon. But still he hesitated. "What about the…neediness?"

"I just want to sleep, Angel. Please."

She looked into his eyes, and for a few precious beats there was nothing cryptic about them at all. She knew then, in the deepest and truest way, that they were still fighting together. They had never stopped.

Silently, he took her hand, leading her away from her mother's final resting place and back out into life. And as the dawn crept over the drowsing streets of Sunnydale, he tucked her gently into the white-sheet drifts of a motel bed and kept watch as she dreamt of snow.


End file.
